29. Elara

Chapter 29

Elara

T he black SUV rolls to a stop, its engine cutting off as abruptly as the anticipation building inside me ever since we left my mother's estate. The night swallows the car whole as the Kaspian, Wilder, and Cav drive off, and I'm left with Sasha at the edge of Thornhaven Manor's grounds. We're two shadows draped in velvet, our robes blending with the darkness enfolding us.

"Ready?"

Sasha's voice is surprisingly steady, and though the cloak's hood shrouds most of her face, her eyes burst through, alight with an odd thrill.

I suppose undercover operations isn't something a college sophomore does everyday.

Nodding, I follow her lead and step into the tangled woods that skirts the property. It's like stepping into another realm—one where reality is shrouded by ancient trees, gnarled thorns, and lonesome owls.

The last time I made this kind of trek, I was with Axe, his keen observation and silent predictions saving me from cracking my head open more than once.

Thinking of him carves a hollow at the base of my stomach, only to be filled by acidic dread.

I hope he's okay. I really hope he's okay.

As we make our way through the dense thicket, the hem of my robe catches on a particularly spiteful bramble. I pause, untangling the fabric with careful fingers. Sasha stops too, watching me with an amused quirk to her lips.

"Consider yourself lucky and they went for your robe. You should see my legs," she teases gently, tucking a stray curl under the robe's tied collar.

"You've done this walk before?" I ask, freeing myself with a final pull. We resume our trek, our footsteps muffled by the mossy ground.

"Yeah. There are times I come by when there aren't any parties going on. I'm asked to come, though. It's not like I'm stalking the place or anything."

Sasha lets out a nervous laugh.

"Is this your roundabout way of saying you respond to after-hours booty calls from someone in there?" I ask, even more curious now.

"Let's just say I've had some... intimate tours," Sasha confesses, her tone light but her gaze fixed on the path ahead.

"Booty call," I correct, elbowing her playfully.

"Fine. But they're all unauthorized, so I was never allowed to say anything."

"All? How many have you had?"

There's a rise to my tone, part surprise, part hurt that she didn't tell me, but I try to cover up the latter by elbowing her again as we trudge on.

"Okay. Fine. I'm seeing two initiates on a regular basis," Sasha admits. "But they've also been coming to my music gigs and hanging out after class, grabbing coffee. It's not all sex."

She glances at me sideways like she's trying to gauge my reaction as covertly as possible.

I find myself grinning with a surge of fondness. "I'm the last person to judge, Sash. You should never feel like you have to hide anything from me."

We both trip over an unexpected groundhog hole and stumble into each other, our arms interlocking.

I breathe through scattered heartbeats and say, "We really should've brought a flashlight."

"We can't, remember? I'm not supposed to know of this path and you definitely aren't allowed."

"I don't think we can properly save anyone with broken ankles."

"We'll be fine. Tread lightly. And … don't piss off any skunks."

We weave through the night-chilled foliage in silence, until the warm glow of lights filter through the spaces between the leaves.

Thornhaven Manor's windows are lit from the towering lancet windows to the first floor, their leaded panes catching the candlelight within and fracturing it into a thousand glittering stars. Ornate gargoyles leer from weathered cornices, their sightless eyes seeming to follow our approach, while a delicate tracery of ivy clings to the ancient walls, like the forest is trying to devour this monstrosity—and all that lingers within it—whole.

How many women were sacrificed in here these past centuries? How many are still alive in there?

We'd talked about it before separating: How Cav would look for identification records of the Sovereigns in their private chambers, Wilder would cover Sasha and I from some unseen point, and Kaspian would free Axe and locate the Heart. Sasha and I both demanded that they look for any girls in the dungeons, too. Or in the Sovereigns' private wing. Anywhere.

They can't keep getting away with this.

Cav agreed that whoever finished their task first could pivot and search for any captive girls. There were at least five still missing from campus, and those are only the known ones.

Of course, any mention of the Vultures assisting us was met with a swift, "Fuck, no." And Clover hasn't yet gotten back to me.

Sasha and I draw nearer, the muffled thumps of bass escaping through an ornate rose window closest to us, its vibrant glass a jarring counterpoint to the inky black enveloping our forms.

I'm unable to look away from the pale pink petals. This is it. We're really doing this.

And I might not make it out alive.

Beside me, Sasha's voice drops an octave when she asks, "You're falling for all four of them, aren't you?"

Her words strike a chord, resonating with a truth I've been reluctant to acknowledge. I open my mouth to answer, but Sasha shakes her head.

"Oh my God, what am I doing, asking you to bare your soul while your guys are in there? We have so much to talk about, but not here. It's time we be truthful with each other. Like, all of it."

"Deal," I say, weaving my arm through hers and pressing as close to her side as I can.

We're about to take the first stair on the terrace steps when the grand front door swings open, spilling out a wash of warm, amber light onto the cobblestone path. A silhouette stands framed by the vast entrance, his imposing figure casting a long shadow that stretches out towards us.

"Welcome back, Sasha," the man says, his voice carrying across the courtyard with eerie clarity.

He steps into the moonlight, the hood from his black robe not quite hiding a face that embodies the Cimmerian Court's boyish charm and cruel arrogance. "And you've brought a friend. How quaint."

Sasha squeezes my arm reassuringly and leads us up the stairs and through the door. I lower my gaze to avoid direct eye contact—any recognition could spell disaster for us.

Inside, he leads us through the parlor. Opulent chandeliers hang from the high-vaulted ceiling, their incandescent crystals dancing over the marble floors.

He stops at the doors to the drawing room, where noises buzzing with hedonistic delight escape through the cracks. Turning, his robe billowing, he hands us two cheap, white plastic masks with a single elastic wrapping around the back of our heads to keep it affixed.

Sasha dons it without hesitation. She looks to me expectantly, but I find myself frozen by her expressionless, bone-white face with two hollow eye-holes where her bright, twinkling brown ones should be.

Sasha clears her throat and gestures with her chin.

Right. As covertly as possible, I put mine on, too, then readjust my hood to hide my hair. I look up in time to see Sasha's man put his on, except his is of exquisite, porcelain make. It's a half-mask, leaving his lips free to curve into a wolfish smile.

"Are you ready?"

Sasha nods, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say she did it eagerly .

He throws open the doors and strides through the center of the threshold.

Pressing my lips together, my breathing harsh and hot behind the mask, I walk in beside Sasha.

At first glance, the room could be mistaken for a grand masquerade ball, each lady and initiate attired in robes similar to our own. Their masks conceal their identities, rendering each participant anonymous and equal. But as we step further into the room, I comprehend the reality beneath the guise of propriety.

With deliberate slowness, one woman shrugs her robe behind her shoulders while it's still tied with a golden rope at her neck, revealing her naked form beneath. She saunters towards an initiate awaiting her on a chaise lounge.

More women copy her gesture. Robes fall open like flowers blooming, bodies entwined together on plush velvet and dark wood, pulsating with the low rhythm of music seeping from the walls.

I spot a redheaded woman arching euphorically into the man behind her. He's taking her from behind. She throws her head back, her mask in place but her long, pale neck exposed.

Another woman is perched on the edge of a high-backed chair, her bare legs spread wide for an initiate kneeling before her. His head is buried between her thighs and she's gripping his hair, pulling him closer as soft cries spill from the mouth-hole of her mask.

I have to blink twice at another woman on her knees, her mask's mouth-hole cut into a wide enough circle to accommodate a very large dick being sucked on.

"Jesus Christ, Sash." My high-pitched whisper leaks through the plastic covering my face. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"Because then you wouldn't have come and you said this was an emergency," she whispers back. "Just go with it. You don't have to do anything. Some just sit back and watch while jerking off under their robes."

"Oh. Okay."

Is that a relief? Should I be relieved?

I don't know, because an indecent part of me is getting wet.

Sasha's robe flutters with her movements as she bends over and … takes off her pants.

"Sash!"

"What?" Her mask-clad face looks up. "I told you I go to these things and we were going to be truthful with each other from now on. Right?"

I raise my hand to cover my mouth, but realize all I'll hit is deception. And expose my fully-clad self under my robe. "I thought we'd perhaps gently reveal our fetishes to each other."

"Nah. Cold plunge, girl."

I swear she grins under her mask before she gives all her attention to the initiate who escorted us, parting her robe while he parts his.

Nope. I can't watch.

Lost in the carnal chaos, I stumble to a chair at the edge of the room, but can't close my eyes. Cav told me to keep a constant count of the initiates in the room and ensure no one leaves. There should be 12 of them tonight, rewarded for their devotion by the Sovereigns. No more, no less.

I do as Cav asks, my chin bobbing along with my count until I end at twelve, but it takes me a minute to get there. No one sees my mouth gape open as I watch a foursome in front of the fireplace, two guys, two girls, their bodies fluid and wild under the rising flames.

One of the men strums his fingers over a woman's clit while the other woman rides him, her back arched, breasts exposed and bouncing. The other man pumps into the first woman from behind, his hands gripping her hips.

My own body responds. A familiar heat coils within me. My hand inches under my robe, fingers fumbling with my jeans' button.

Cautiously, I peek around to make sure no one notices my fingers find?—

Someone watches me by the curtains. My hand stills at the hem of my panties.

He's tall and imposing, his black robe and full face mask similar to mine.

He peels himself away from the wall and strides toward me, heedless of the writhing bodies blocking his path, until he halts directly in front of my chair.

He reaches out then hesitates, as though testing. His fingers hover over my chest and he says something I can't understand due to the loud music and sensual moans resonating throughout the room. Unsettled and embarrassed at being caught, I begin to rise from my chair, but his next words stops time in its tracks.

"Witness," he intones, the voice igniting invisible fuses along my skin. "Every. Delicious. Moment."

My lungs forget their rhythm, stumbling over the simple act of breathing. His voice carries a hint of the familiar... Wilder's signature undertones.

His hand closes around mine, stopping it mid-descent from my chest. His touch is warm, but arctic in its threat.

I'm not to move. Not to question. Only to watch.

Without a word, he guides my hand from my chest to his own, placing it over his robe-draped heart. It pounds hard and steady beneath my touch, as if in sync with the crazy tempo of my own.

My face betrays me, warming visibly when our eyes meet. That eternally ravenous stare ... it's definitely Wilder. I know it well, even through the mask.

With his endless gaze never leaving mine, he shrugs aside his robe to reveal a lean body covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. I take in his chiseled chest and shoulders, his abs twitching deliciously under his golden skin and follow the gorgeous lines of his body to the end of his hand, where he beckons me to rise.

Mutely, I do, my sweaty plastic mask pressing into my cheeks as I incline my head in a compliant gesture. He takes my seat, then guides me onto his lap where I can feel all of him—every twitch, every groan in his chest.

"Nothing can happen to you tonight," he says. "You have to blend in, so I'll hide you in plain sight. If I have to be inside you to do that, then that's what I'll do. You can watch, like Cav wants, but I want to watch you come undone."

Wilder's hand slides over mine, his touch electrifying, my pulse to beating in my body like the music's bass. Wordlessly, he guides my hand back under my robe, his fingers resting lightly atop mine.

He moves one of my fingers under my panties and into the slit of my pussy, sliding both his and mine in.

My breathing falters, then accelerates, the sound muffled by my mask as his finger traces mine, exploring the wet heat of my arousal. My hips grind against him, ridden with an immediate request for more. A sound like distant thunder emanates from deep within him.

He hardens beneath me, an exhilarating reminder of what I do to him. Wilder's hold on my waist tightens, and despite everything—despite the carnal energy around us and the nearby perils—nothing feels more real than Wilder's touch.

Count, damn you. I have to keep a headcount.

The steely length of him presses against my backside after I find the twelfth initiate and a needy whimper escapes my lips.

His thumb finds my clit, circling it in rhythm with our fingers thrusting inside me. My hips buck, pushing against him to better feel him.

"Watch them have their fun," he murmurs in my ear. "Because the only dicks you'll ever feel will be ours. Your pussy is ours. Your mind is ours. Your soul will taste like our cum because we will never be done with you."

Yes, count. Must not stop counting…

I suck in a breath that tastes of shock and anticipation, gripping the arms of the chair for support as he takes his time. His thumb and mine circles my clit, teasing and tormenting.

He's my pulling my strings, commanding my fingers, edging me closer, making me feel how soaked I am, how hot and silky I feel inside.

Whimpering, I arch my back to give him better access.

He pushes more of our fingers inside me, stretching me wider. I gasp when he hits that spot deep within me that makes my toes curl.

"Fuck, Wilder," I moan.

His amusement manifests as a sound that raises the hairs on my neck while his free hand digs into my pants' hem at my hip, pushing down my jeans until my ass is bared under the robe, then guides me to the tip of his erection.

He's thick, and my body welcomes the intrusion. I open to him easily. Wilder's cock fills me up perfectly, each thrust forcing me to breathe through my nose lest I scream. Sensation spirals outward, a dizzying vortex of pure feeling.

His mask leans close to my ear, and a husky whisper breaks through the wanton symphony around us. "Watch them, Elara," he commands, "Keep counting them while they fuck. We fuck."

Despite the building heat inside me, I force my eyes to stay open and sweep across the room again.

"One…" The syllable scrapes past my vocal cords.

Wilder's fingers continue their torturous dance, inside and around our joined sex.

"Two…"

Every stroke sends a spark of pleasure snaking up my spine.

"Three…" I pull in air like a drowning person breaking the surface when Wilder hits a particularly delicious spot. His thumb circles my clit while I'm stretched thin around him.

My fingers clutch at the chair, attempting to hold onto my focus as he continues his expert manipulation of my body. Wilder's fingers delve within me even as he fucks me, exploring depths I had forgotten existed, inciting rapture that makes my head spin. Four, five, six, seven, eight?—

"Nine!" A cry escapes my lips as he buries himself more deeply within me.

And then, nothing.

The tension winds tighter and snaps.

Wilder's voice drops to a subhuman frequency as his fingers and dick work me harder, faster—"Scream for me," he commands in a hoarse voice that teases the edges of my sanity.

I buck against him, feeling myself nearing the edge of an explosive climax. My chest tightens and my breathing becomes shallow.

"Ten," I manage to choke out before everything implodes.

Wilder's rhythm falters as he nears his own climax. I can feel him pulse and twitch within me, signaling his impending release. His touch becomes rougher as he fucks me faster and deeper…

"Wilder…" is all I can manage to stutter out before he comes undone with me; my eyes remaining wide open, drinking in every detail.

Wilder fills me to overflowing as our climaxes crash together like two competing tidal waves from opposite directions.

The world around us continues in pulsating motion even as we come down from our shared high. Attempting to regain a semblance of control, I force myself to keep counting.

"Ten, I ended at ten," I remind myself, my voice a scratch of its former self. My heart is pounding so hard, it's making my throat ache as I take in the scene again.

Wilder's hand lingers on top of my pussy, as if relishing the memory of how he molded it to fit his shape, before reluctantly drawing back.

I count again, fighting to stay focused amidst the sexual haze clouding my mind.

I get to ten, and my heart misses a beat before crashing down with a sinking dread. I count again, triple-checking to mask the rising panic.

Wilder, quick to pick up on the shift in my emotion, pulls out of me slowly and turns me around to face him. I'm too lost in my growing panic to notice our disentanglement, or the minor discomfort it brings.

His gaze peers into mine through our masks. "Elara?"

Wilder's never said my first name before.

"Sasha is gone," I breathe out, fear seeping into every syllable. "She was with two initiates…" My voice drops to a whimper as I add, "…and they're gone, too."